Kill Gilderoy, Volume One
by faballa
Summary: While the Golden Trio attempts to stop the heir of Slytherin, two students opt to embark on a different sort of challenge: First degree murder.
1. Chapter 1: Pretty Men are Easy Targets

**Typical Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: **Hello! Welcome to the prequel to the Esme Slain fics! If you haven't read them then you can either start with this one or with _But You're My Best Friend!_ If you have read them, then you should know that this starts in her seventh year of Hogwarts and doesn't encompass her childhood whatsoever. If you don't like OC fics, than I would recommend you go read something else. If you don't like OC fics and you flame this, then I will be forced to laugh at you because you obviously don't know how to follow directions. However, if you do like OC fics and you do review, then you will win a special place in my heart (hint, hint!).

* * *

You know your life is sad when you dream about Potions. Of course, those dreams may not be so sad if you're a Potions Master, in which case your life is sad in general and whatever you dream about isn't going to change that; or if you're studying for a major Potions test or have just finished a three-foot essay on the proper usages of Draught of the Living Dead, then it's perfectly acceptable to dream about Potions. But when you're seventeen, it's summer, and the only thing on your mind is how to make the perfect Polyjuice Potion, then there is only one word for your life: sad.

Even so, Esme Slain wouldn't have defined her life as sad. It certainly wasn't normal, but it typically didn't focus around Potions. She had a social life. She had friends, and a (somewhat strange) family life. There was no logical reason why every dream she had this summer involved her, alone in the dungeon, feverishly adding ingredients to a bubbling cauldron while Professor Snape chastised her from over her shoulder.

Perhaps it was the first symptom of an upcoming mental breakdown.

Her dream was disrupted just as she was adding lacewing flies and Snape was calling her useless; a loud shriek had completely filled the entire space around her, including any space between her ears where dreams could reside.

"He's here!" a squealing mass of red hair and freckles screamed, her whole body nearly going into convulsions. Of all of her foster siblings, Ginny Weasley had to be Esme's favorite, mainly because she was the only one who had mastered chewing with her mouth closed. But still, she wasn't perfect like Bill, brash like Charlie, annoyingly intelligent like Percy, loud like the twins or...well, Ron was rather nice too, but he wasn't a girl, and was thus fairly odd and rather foreign. If not for their six year age difference, Ginny and Esme would have been best friends; even so, she made a fine little sister.

But no matter how fine the little sister or how awful the dream, nothing could justify getting up before noon during the summer. _Nothing. _

"...and you'd better be down there soon if you want any breakfast," Ginny was saying. "Mum's in a right state. The boys took the car to get Harry and he's sitting _right in our kitchen! _He is right in our kitchen just eating his porridge so come on get down there before he leaves!" finished Ginny, squealing and shaking Esme's shoulders. Esme reached out and smacked her sister with a pillow. "Fine, then. I'll tell Mum you don't want any brekkie." She flounced out of the room just seconds before Esme pushed her covers off and ran after her.

The breakfast table was only slightly more uproarious than usual. Fred and George were wolfing down slices of toast as though they hadn't been fed in months. Ron, too, was eating like a starving man, although he was making an effort to converse with the skinny dark-haired boy to his left. Molly and Ginny were watching over the whole scene, Molly scornful, and Ginny blushing so hard Esme feared her head might explode.

When she stepped into the kitchen, Molly's frown relaxed slightly, turning into more of a tired grimace than anything else. "Good morning, dear," she said kindly. "Harry, you know Esme, don't you?" Harry looked up and must have been trying to smile, but a mouth full of food sort of ruins the effect. "She's our oldest daughter."

"Foster daughter," Esme quickly corrected, tugging on her chin-length black hair for reference. "I'm not just some genetic dysfunction."

"And yet Mum still likes you better than us," George said cheerfully, his plate finally empty of food.

"Mum likes the ghoul better than you two."

Molly rolled her eyes, but didn't offer any solace towards the twins farther than, "Go de-gnome the garden."

* * *

"Now, I trust you two enough to spend this on books and only books," said Molly as she handed a very small bag of coins to Esme and Percy. "I mean it. Neither of you needs new robes, and the letters said your Potions ingredients should be covered by Professor Snape. Meet us at the Leaky Cauldron by three. Don't get food unless you absolutely need it. And be safe."

"Mum?" Ron called. "We can't find Harry."

Molly turned about, grumbling and pushing her hands through her red hair. Esme turned to Percy. "It's almost like she doesn't trust us, eh?"

"Doesn't trust you is more like it," muttered Percy, stuffing his hands into his pockets and moving ahead.

"Pardon?"

"Don't play dumb. You get in nearly as much trouble as Fred and George, but you barely get any blame for it."

"Please, anyone could have sold those third years firewhiskey. I had nothing to do with it." Percy rolled his eyes and walked ahead. "Look, if you're going to be like this just take half the money and go get your books. I'm going to find Tonks."

Luckily, Tonks wasn't that hard to find. Bright blue hair has that fortunate aspect to it. "So, I'm guessing you're still studying Potions?" asked Tonks, after leaning in for a quick hug.

"Yeah. The new book doesn't exactly inspire confidence though," said Esme as the two worked their way through the crowds to Flourish and Blotts.

"Ah, yes, _Horrifically Difficult and Nearly Impossible Potions for the Advanced and Masochistic Potioneer. _Who even thinks up a title like that?"

"Apparently," Esme glanced down at her book list, "Diurnius Wilter."

"Another one to add to our list of authors taking revenge on the world because of their name."

The two continued giggling all the way to Flourish and Blotts, where, upon entrance, the giggling promptly stopped. Standing at the back of the store was quite possibly the prettiest grown man Esme had ever seen. He had shiny hair, obnoxiously white teeth, and blue eyes that could, rather accurately, be compared to the sky. Or something else very, very, blue. And, like all pretty grown men do, he was talking about himself.

He also seemed to have his arm around an adolescent boy. Not that _that_ wasn't weird or anything.

"Yes, my dearest friends," the pretty man was saying, "I am pleased and proud to announce that I, Gilderoy Lockhart, the man with the most beautiful smile in the wizarding world, will be taking the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, the only institution deemed beautiful enough for me, Gilderoy Lockhart."

Esme could feel her jaw drop as Tonks whispered, "Snape isn't going to like this."

"Snape doesn't like anything."

"True. Guess this explains all the Lockhart books." Esme nodded grimly in agreement. "It shouldn't be too bad," Tonks said consolingly. "We always manage to make things interesting." She paused for a second. "Do you have any plans for this year? Because the only thing I can think of is—"

"First degree murder?" finished Esme, smiling wickedly.

"Exactly."

* * *

**A/N: **Should I continue? Or was it preferable without prequel?


	2. Chapter 2: Best Friends Forever

**Typical Disclaimers Apply**

**A/N: **Thanks to RadicalReason, Azrulai, and elethian for reviewing chapter one!

* * *

The first feast of the new year was probably Esme's favorite part of Hogwarts. There weren't any impending essays or detentions hanging over her head, Snape had better things to do than to glare in the direction of the Gryffindor House table, and she actually got to eat with girls her own age. Not that she didn't love her family, but when the closest person in age is Percy Weasley, summer can get rather tedious.

She had gotten close to Tonks back in first year; Esme was related to the notorious accomplice to You-Know-Who, Marcus Slain, and Tonks had a second-cousin, an uncle, and an aunt all in Azkaban for horrible crimes against wizards and Muggles alike. And apparently, almost everyone at Hogwarts knew this. So, out of fear of being totally ostracized (people weren't exactly _friendly_ when they discovered evil relatives), the two girls had clung together. Being in different Houses hadn't been too much of an issue, but eventually they'd both managed to make friends with the students they shared a common room with. Esme's happened to be Claire Owens and Maura Finnigan. And, for the past five years, they'd eaten almost every meal together.

However, now all three girls were distracted by something much more exciting than food.

"Please tell me that isn't the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor," said Claire, one of her cocoa-colored hands gripping her glass of pumpkin juice. Claire had been Gryffindor prefect the last two years, which had been rather fortunate when it came to causing trouble.

Esme nodded, also staring at a man with very shiny hair and obnoxiously blue robes. "I saw him in Flourish and Blotts the other day. I don't think I've ever seen anyone make such a prat of themselves."

"I dunno," Maura said slowly, raising an eyebrow, "I think he's kind of cute." Petite and curvy, Maura was a bit of a hopeless romantic, and had the unfortunate luck to fall in love with any bloke who wasn't spitting and scratching himself.

Esme rolled her eyes at her friend, "I don't think a man wearing _aquamarine _is going to be interested in a girl like you."

"What do you—oh," she covered her hand with her mouth and giggled. Dumbledore was standing and talking now, but, as usual, no one over the age of twelve was actually listening.

Esme scanned the line of professors again, and noticed with a shock that her absolute _favorite _teacher was missing. "Where's Snape?" she asked quietly.

"He pulled your little brother and Harry Potter out of here nearly ten minutes ago," said Claire.

"Why?"

"Well, according to everyone at the table, they stole your parents' car."

It was all Esme could do not to tear up with pride right then and there. Instead, she covered her emotions by saying, "Damn, and I'd gotten my hopes up that he'd died." Both Claire and Maura raised their eyebrows. "Oh, come now. We all know that man won't die a natural death." Maura rolled her eyes and frowned. Fortunately, before she could add some witty retort, a rather loud announcement distracted her. "As I repeat," Dumbledore was saying, looking straight at them, "in case some certain students weren't listening: All seventh years must report to their Head of House at eight A.M. tomorrow morning." He raised his white eyebrows, skimming the faces of Maura, Esme and Claire. All of the other students were staring at them.

Apparently not everyone talked through his speeches.

* * *

As a means of atonement, all three girls arrived in McGonagall's office that morning, on time, and reasonably well dressed. She raised her eyebrows as they took their places in one of the two rows of chairs set up in front of her desk. The two other Gryffindor girls in their year, Scarlet Brown and Martha Haverworth looked at them scathingly.

Typically, Scarlet and Martha did all they could to avoid socializing with their three other roommates. Both had strong desires for lives in politics, and Martha even had the family to back it up—her grandfather had been Minister of Magic several decades ago. The kind of trouble Esme got into would make them faint, and the fact that Claire had been prefect had made her enemy number one in their eyes.

But McGonagall didn't care about any of this. In fact, after seeing her glare at all five girls and all six boys, Esme was fairly certain she wouldn't be upset if this class of Gryffindors was eaten by a dragon. "Let me just say," she said coolly as she rose from her desk, "after the _shenanigans _of the past year, I am ashamed to call many of you Gryffindors. Selling alcohol to children," she spat, "repeatedly skipping classes, and I can't tell you about the almost _weekly _noise complaints I get about the parties in Gryffindor Tower. You have made your House a mockery and I hope you are _ashamed._"

"But Professor," said Scarlet, raising her hand meekly, "we were the ones with the most points last year."

"That is true," said McGonagall, regaining her temper. "And you have shown some of the highest academic prowess than many other classes. I can only hope that this year you all will attempt to bring some honor back to the Gryffindor House."

"We'll try," one of the boys exclaimed proudly, practically forcing Esme to snort derisively. McGonagall glanced over at her, raised an eyebrow, and said nothing.

"Thank you, Wallace," she said. "But I haven't gathered you all here just to chastise you about behavior. This is your seventh year at Hogwarts, meaning that you must put very serious thought into your careers. Because of this, it is necessary that you spend extra time studying the subject you will pursue. Until the Christmas holiday, all of you will be spending extra time working with the professor whose class will be the main focus of your future career. For example, anyone who wishes to become an Auror will work with," she inhaled slowly, "Professor Lockhart." This time, more students than Esme let out bursts of laughter. McGonagall continued, "After Christmas you will begin fieldwork. Anyone wanting to go into Healing will be working at St. Mungo's, any future politicians will be working at the Ministry. If you are studying a certain subject," she glanced over at Esme, "then you will be teaching a class as a means to show your professor your true understanding of the subject. You will need to balance this with your NEWT work, but your schedules have been modified to fit your extra work." She quickly handed schedule cards out to the eleven students. "That is all. You may go."

Esme glanced down at her card and her stomach plummeted. "So, what do you have today?" asked Claire as they left the office and Maura headed off to Muggle Studies.

"Double Potions then Double Defense Against the Dark Arts," she said grimly.

"Same here," Claire said sympathetically. "At least we've got a free period after lunch."

"Not me," said Esme sadly. "I've got to observe one of Snape's classes and get notes from him on some draught."

Esme was good at Potions. Actually, she was great at Potions. Actually, she was really-super-amazing at Potions. She compensated for it by being rather terrible at every other subject. Because of this McGonagall had suggested that she study Potions—either to become a professor or just to master the study and art. At no time in her career planning had she told Esme that this would entail spending hours with Snape. But Snape was her absolute favorite teacher and best friend, so she didn't really mind.

Esme met Tonks outside the dungeon doors, no one even bothering to line up. She was standing with the only other Hufflepuff: Rachel Cohen, Head Girl, chaser on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, and all around sweet and friendly person. Esme could only tolerate her for about ten seconds. She was about to pull her aside when Snape swept through the crowd, opened the doors, and said coldly, "In."

Once she was settled, Esme noticed that there weren't any ingredients on the board, and Snape was just standing at the front of the class. Once everyone was quiet, he began to talk. And talk. And talk.

When Esme realized that this speech wasn't going to be short (roughly five minutes in), she distracted herself by imagining Snape tap-dancing. After half an hour, when she, along with everyone else, realized that he would be spending an entire double period discussing Potions _theory, _she began putting together a musical starring the Hogwarts staff. It was quite lovely, all focusing around a man (Snape) and a woman (Lockhart) who fall in love. All it was riding on was whether or not Dumbledore could sing tenor.

Finally, the bell rung and Snape said, "You may leave," and everyone woke from their daydreams and left, grumbling. Esme was the only one who stayed behind, paying a visit to her best friend.

"Hello, Snape!" she said, cheerfully sauntering up to his desk. "Aren't you excited to spend every day with me, including weekends and holidays? Because I'm super excited!"

"I'm absolutely thrilled," he said sarcastically. "Now, leave."

"No." He raised an eyebrow. "I have a proposition for you." When he said nothing she went on, "I haven't actually had a class with him yet, but I feel like Lockhart is the kind of person you hate. Since you hate him, and since you and I are so close, I've decided I hate him too, and am willing to get rid of him for a small exchange."

"Get rid of him?"

"You know, get him sacked, or make him quit. Or kill him. I guess that would work the best."

Snape paused for a moment before asking, "What is your exchange."

"You give me a really great review that gets me a job anywhere I want."

He looked at her thoughtfully, his black eyes narrowing. "You know, Ms. Slain, I think you and I may have a deal."

"Really? I didn't think you'd actually go for that."

"Surprisingly enough, I want you out of this school—and possibly country—as badly as you do."

Esme squealed and through her arms around his midsection. "Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you! I knew you were my best friend for a reason!"

"Please don't touch me," he said, pulling her off. "Ever."

* * *

**A/N: **Good? Bad? Utterly terrible? Please review!


	3. Chapter 3: For the Love of Flitwick!

**

* * *

**

Typical Disclaimers Apply

**A/N: **Sorry for not updating for the last few weeks! I've been away from my laptop, but now I'm back with a new chapter! Thanks to Tootsiepop254, Azrulai, ., sjrodgers108, RadicalReason, Mel, and LunaLovegood1117 for reviewing!

* * *

"Esmeralda Slain?" The pretty man with a clipboard and big teeth was looking at her, clearly confused. Defense Against the Dark Arts meant the same thing year after year: an idiotic new professor who would give the students anything they wanted, as long as they knew how to get it. Gilderoy Lockhart normally wouldn't have been any different, but this year Esme had a goal.

"Yep!" Before he could respond she added, "Direct descendant of Marcus Slain, the infamous mate of You-Know-Who." Lockhart stared at her for a few moments, along with several other students in the class, then turned away, shuddering a bit.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" hissed Tonks, right in Esme's ear.

"Severus said that if I got rid of him he would find me a job. I figure he meant by any means necessary."

"Didn't Dumbledore tell us third year that using our lineage to scare people is unethical?"

"That was when we were telling kids we were the incarnations of evil. This is totally different. I'm making the world a better place."

"That's what you said last time," Tonks mumbled, but Professor Pretty-Boy had started talking, causing Esme to totally forget her best friend.

"Now," he was saying, the light of the classroom almost bouncing off of his teeth, "can anyone here tell me how to perform a proper memory modification charm?" Before anyone, even Rachel Cohen, even got a chance to raise their hands, Esme had leaped up, brandishing her wand, and shouted, _"Obliviate!"_ Lockhart was so shocked he barely had time to duck. The spell hit so close to his head that it ruffled several of his perfectly coiffed hairs, and he let out a rather girlish shriek. He came up, looking utterly gobsmacked. "I'm sorry, I thought you wanted us to demonstrate it," she said innocently. "I mean, I thought you asked because _you _didn't know the spell and needed someone to show you it."

Lockhart had stopped looking like such a Pretty-Boy, and now looked rather angry. "Now really, has any teacher _ever _taught like that?"

"Yes?" Lockhart gave her a curious look, paused for a second, then went on talking about one of his books.

"So close," Esme muttered, sitting back in her seat.

* * *

"You know, he really shouldn't be too hard to get rid of," said Esme as she watched the head table sadly.

"Snape?" asked Maura, looking up from her sandwich. "I wouldn't try to get him sacked, Esme. I'm sure hundreds of students have tried and failed before you."

"Not Snape," said Esme. "He and I are best friends now. I mean _Lockhart._"

"She tried to Obliviate him during class today," Claire added, bemused. "Needless to say..." she trailed off, gesturing to the highly animated man attempting to converse with McGonagall.

"All of our other Defense Against the Dark Arts professors have gotten rid of themselves," said Maura. "Maybe you just need to be patient."

"I don't know," sighed Esme. "I mean, clearly he doesn't have You-Know-Who on the back of his head, and I don't think he's hitting on all the girls like Professor McEllan did."

Claire snorted, "And clearly being attacked by students doesn't scare him like it did Professor Andrews."

"Of course it wouldn't, after all of the things he's seen and done," said Maura, her eyes wide. "I mean, you're scary Esme, don't get me wrong, but you're no where near as frightening as a werewolf or a banshee." Esme rolled her eyes, but Maura didn't seem to catch it. "Why do you even want to get rid of him? He's so brave, and clever, and charming..."

"He screamed like a girl when Esme cursed him," Claire muttered under her breath.

"Snape said that if I can get rid of him, then he'll make sure I have a great job lined up after we graduate."

"I think there are better ways to get Snape on your side, Esme," said Claire, grinning. "For example, quitting his class and choosing a completely different field of study just might make him fall in love with you."

Esme pulled a face. "That's disgusting, Claire. Anyway, we all know that Flitwick's _much _more my type."

* * *

"So, how's your day been going, Severus?" asked Esme cheerfully as she stirred in a handful of lacewing flies.

Snape sighed, putting his newspaper down again. It wasn't often that students chose to study Potions; he'd been teaching for eleven years and Esme was only the fourth serious student he'd had. It was an extremely difficult subject and he typically did all the best he could to make them quit after fifth year. Typically he'd lie back and relax, perhaps read a book, while all of his colleagues struggled to keep papers graded and lesson plans laid out.

So of course, to keep things balanced, he was given the most annoying student in the history of time.

When he didn't answer her first question she went on to ask. "What's your favorite color? Mine's blue, because it matches my eyes. Also I like red, purple, orange, teal, and magenta. You know, you would look fabulous in magenta, Severus. It really sets off pale skin tone, and your skin really _is_ quite pale. You should go outside more often. Tonks and I tan on the weekends outside by the lake, and I'm sure she really wouldn't mind if you joined us. Women like men with a healthy glow to their skin, you know. It would probably be much easier for you to pick up birds at pubs and such if you had a bit of a tan. Do you date, Severus? I used to date but then I decided..." it went on and on until the entire dungeon began to reek of rotten eggs.

With about fifteen minutes left in the session, Snape finally strode over to Esme's desk, his nostrils recoiling in horror. "What in God's name are you doing?"

"Potions."

"This isn't what I assigned you."

"I'm expressing myself creatively, Severus. And no teacher should ever staunch a student's creativity."

"No teacher should allow their students to call them by their first names. Twenty points from Gryffindor." He made to vanish the potion, but Esme shrieked, "NO!"

"Excuse me?"

"I'm keeping it."

"Why?"

"That isn't your business."

"I dare say it is."

"Well, if you must know, this potion is a powerful reliever of pre-menstrual syndrome," she said primly, ladling some of the concoction into a pink bottle. It was clear as water, but smelled like death, and Esme had to hold back vomit as it passed under her nose. Her words had had the desired effect though, as Snape had flushed quite pink and muttered something about it being fine if she kept it.

Of course, he would regret his decision the next day when Lockhart came in, smiling as usual, smelling as if he'd rolled around in roadkill.

* * *

**A/N: **Is it good? Is it bad? Is it so terrifically awful I should delete my account and go into hiding?


End file.
